


We Didn't Start the Fire

by cognomen, MayGlenn



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Complete, Danger, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Life-Affirming Sex, M/M, Minor Injuries, Not quite PWP, One Shot, Slice of Life, danger fluff, fake texting, hotshot firefighters, questionable pet names, texting in general, wildland firefighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 00:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: There’s a calm that claims them all when they’re working and it’s going the way it’s supposed to; the low-level hum of concentration and focus and adrenaline that keeps them on edge without panic. The crew deploys from Idaho, a home base that they see perhaps 3 weeks out of the entire 26 week fire season, interspersed with time in camps and housing all over the country. This week, it’s California—sunny, liberal, beach lined, and on fire.Finn's a Hotshot firefighter; Poe's the team Helitack operator.  They're headed to California to fight a fire in San Jacinto; dangerous country.





	We Didn't Start the Fire

There’s a calm that claims them all when they’re working and it’s going the way it’s supposed to; the low-level hum of concentration and focus and adrenaline that keeps them on edge without panic. The crew deploys from Idaho, a home base that they see perhaps 3 weeks out of the entire 26 week fire season, interspersed with time in camps and housing all over the country. This week, it’s California—sunny, liberal, beach lined, and _ on fire. _

Poe gets to come in the helicopter, carrying the command staff (and the Firehawk itself) to the designated camp for fire assessment. It’s not the heavy bird, but the fire’s over the San Jacinto area; all mountains and valleys in the bend of the SoCal coast and they anticipate they’ll have to keep the crew mobile.

It means he’s glad they chose him, out of the stable of five available pilots; first things first because he knows Finn’s driving in the convoy with the rest of the Hotshot crew to come work the containment, and second because he can put this fat beast down on any patch of clear land the rotors will clear and the last time Poe was in San Jacinto the fire had been nasty and fast, and he’d had to pull four crewmen out of a smoke filled valley before it burned out when they got trapped behind a ridgeline.

He tries not to worry about these things. Firemen are injured a lot, but wildfire crews are the best of the best—major losses are uncommon. Finn has the sense not to stand under any snags, but anyone would worry. Anyone  _ should  _ worry, exactly the right amount.

Requesting—and receiving—landing clearance from the PSP (now international, previously municipal) airport, Poe sets the Firehawk down amidst a faint haze of smoke, cutting the engines and working his logbook while the command staff disembarks. This is his job—some cargos he likes a little better than others, but he knows his day has reached an end. Tomorrow it’ll be sixteen hours of flight and eight hours of sleep probably in a tent or a cabin somewhere out in the wilderness, but today while the command staff studies weather and fire patterns like a group of wizened sages, Poe can meet Finn at a motel room somewhere and they can hit the hay on a mattress that probably doesn’t have any wildlife actually living in it.

Superstitiously, he gives the helicopter a pat before he leaves her on the runway for the night, and checks in with Finn with a text.

**Poe:**  Hey buddy, skids down. Where’s the convoy?

There’s no immediate response so he figures Finn might be doing his turn at the wheel, a little mental math says they should be most of the way here, provided there weren’t too many stops for the bathroom or beef jerky—all the luxuries car travel afforded one. He shakes the vibration of flight out of his fingers, and texts again before he puts the phone away dials a cab from the tiny concourse.

**Poe:** I’m going to get us a room at this hotel with a neon palm tree sign. (Send Glimpse)

**Finn:** I dunno, sounds a little gay...

**Finn** : JK, sweet cheeks. See you there. Get two queens so Jess can stay with us

**Finn** : Make sure we save room for Jesus

**Finn** : Be there in an hour, sugar tits

**Finn** : Honey bunches of oats

“ _ Okay _ , Jessika,” Finn growls, swiping sideways at her while he tries to stay on the road. “Would you stop texting my boyfriend and giggling?”

“I could stop giggling, but I would still be texting him,” she says, sliding against the door where Finn can’t reach her.

“I hate you.”

“Do you?” she asks, still typing away on his phone. “I’m getting you laid tonight.”

“That was probably happening anyway,” Finn says, trying not to blush enough to be noticeable.

**Finn** : It’s been a looooong, haaaaard trip, baby cakes. I can’t wait to see you

**Finn** : ...naked

Finn sighs, hoping Poe won’t be too annoyed by this. They met over a year ago on Finn’s first firefight, and started dating three months later, so though they’ve spent about nine months together. Finn sometimes finds himself oddly insecure about the relationship sometimes. “Ask him what we’re doing for dinner.”

**Finn** : I haven’t eaten. Want to eat you, tiger.

**Finn** : rawr!

**Finn** : Have I mentioned how Jess is the best friend ever and you should remind me not to beat her up when we stop driving?  

Poe’s phone goes off ten times while he checks into the hotel, causing him to scramble to turn down the tone from ‘helicopter loud’ to ‘normal person out walking around in society’ level—it doesn’t help that his ringtones are not only customized, but also slightly obnoxious.

“Sir, there appears to be an emergency in your pants,” the receptionist says; she’s clearly a California girl of the highest order, with neon green hair in an undercut and a punky-but-respectable look that Poe likes.

“Yeah,” Poe says, clipped short over the sound of fire-engine-sirens that always accompany Finn’s texts. “I have a friend who changed all my ringtones and then found a way to password lock just the ringtones. Haven’t figured out how to turn it off, yet.”

“Rad,” the punk-receptionist grins at him.

“My boyfriend’s a firefighter, and she thought it’d be really funny to use the sirens because he’s so ‘hot’,” Poe signs his name on the forms, and then hands over the expense card. “Anyway, what’s good to eat around here?”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and glances at the texts before hastily putting it away again and taking notes on what the receptionist recommends. Then he hikes his backpack and helmet off the floor and heads for the room, juggling the phone back out in the elevator.

**Poe:** Jess can get her own room and voyeur through the wall like a normal person.

**Poe:** The receptionist says there’s a great place called Woody’s (shut UP Jess) that’s vegetarian friendly (for YOU, you weirdo).

**Poe:** It’s open until midnight, you guys gonna be here by then?

In the back of the car, Snap sits up, snapping his fingers together in that way he tends to when he is having intense thoughts. “Hey, I need coffee. Even like, rest stop coffee. From one of those machines from the sixties.”

He did a pretty good impression of a vending machine spitting out a cup and filling it with liquid, even though the sound effects were exaggerated toward the gross side.

“No,” Finn says. “GPS says forty minutes, dude, and I’m in charge. No stops. You fall asleep or you pee in a cup.”

“Gross,” Snap answers, but he doesn’t protest any further.

He steps up the cruise control one MPH, and then feels bad for everyone following him, and slows back down. He just wants to see Poe. He’s hot and tired and a little bit worried about Jess’ texting spree, though he tries to let it go.

Finn checks in with the rest of the convoy on his Walkie-Talkie, but the drivers at least agree with him.

“Right with you boss!”

“No sleep til Brooklyn!”

Jess then has to blast that song, which covers up Snap whining about coffee, and Finn settles in and clicks it up another MPH, anyway.

The convoy keeps pace with him.

**Finn** : 40 minutes out, you great big hunk of man meat, you

**Poe:** Great, we’re in room 207. Jess when you get here can you at least change my ringtones to not-sirens? Thanks.

He’s used to Jess by now; she’d been a part of the hotshot crew since she’d turned up one summer and kicked all the other applicant’s butts in the qualifying tests and physical endurance requirements. She is a brat, but she keeps spirits up, and when push comes to shove she can cut a line faster than a lot of the boys in the troop. Poe likes her enough to go to her softball games sometimes, which is a sign of loyalty that he feels is beyond words, though she makes light of it.

Finn’s newer; a transfer from the Marine Corps combat engineers, and everybody likes him. Poe likes him more than everybody, though he’d found it harder to ask Finn first for his number than he’d found doing the 109 sit ups in three minutes he’d had to for his fitness qualifier.

It had been even harder to ask him _ out _ , but he’s glad he did. Finn’s sweet and daring and brave and he looks like sex on legs in his painfully yellow shirt-and-khakis, with a chainsaw slung over his shoulder.  _ And so far in the relationship, so good,  _ Poe thinks. Even his dad approves—why would former-smokejumper-and-all-around-badass Kes Dameron have anything bad to say about a firefighter?

Poe takes a shower and hears his phone jump on the counter a few more times, figuring Jess is sending more ridiculous things, and he feels better to be cleaner and cooler; the open cockpit was warm today, it’d be downright steamy tomorrow and no chance of a real shower once they were on location.

**Finn:** Almost there, squishy tush! I can see those super straight looking palm trees already. Know what it makes me think of? ;)

They pull up into the hotel parking lot and double-park the rigs far from the entrance, and a few of them do the full-bladder-limp to the lobby. Finn is too embarrassed to look at his texts and calls Poe directly while he walks in.  

“Poe! We just pulled up. I’m sorry about—Jess stole my phone! Where are you?”

When his phone begins to ring (‘Satisfaction’ by Benni Benassi) Poe actually groans out loud and claws his way out of the shower so that he can turn it off before he has to listen to any more of it than is necessary. He leans out of the shower, glad for the otter box he keeps on his phone in case it—well, falls out of a helicopter into a fire, honestly. It definitely protects the phone from the wet side of Poe’s face. “Finn! We’re in 207, are you here? I’m just getting out of the shower.”

“Oh! Yeah. I’ll be right here!” Finn says, hoisting his bag over one shoulder and taking the stairs two at a time to find the room. 201, 203...aha! 207! He knocks hard, tingling with the adrenaline of anticipation. He looks forward to a lot about this job: helping people, sure, but the thrill, the rush of having to do so much, so fast, to be thinking and alert and working hard, looking after his team, against unstoppable forces. But right now, mostly Finn is looking forward to getting his boyfriend alone in a hotel after a long ride. “Poe, open up, it’s me!”

Poe turns off the spray and wraps a towel around his hips, figuring it’s just like Finn to have timing like that, and opens the door, standing behind it in case Finn has anyone else with him—or there are any passers by in the hall. In fact, he hears Jess wolf-whistle anyway as she heads to her room. Poe closes the door behind Finn and shakes his head.

“Never hand your phone to Jess,” Poe tells him, as Finn sets down his gear. “Other than that, how was your drive?”

Finn doesn’t answer, but pushes into the room, drops his bag, and kisses Poe before he’s quite finished.

“Fine, except for wanting to do that for sixteen hours,” Finn says, finally releasing him, and then going bashful: “And I didn’t give her my phone! She took it! I’m sorry, I didn’t even have the heart to look at what she texted. Did she say anything weird? You didn’t think it was me, did you?”

“She didn’t say anything normal,” Poe reveals, with a chuckle. “I missed you too, hotshot.”

The joke is old, but Poe never gets tired of it. He wraps his arms around Finn’s neck and gives him a big hug, before he realizes he’s still pretty wet from the shower. “Uh, sorry. No, I knew it wasn’t you the second the pet names came out. Also ‘leave room for Jesus’ is not you either. Did she tell you I found a place to eat?”

“Oh, God, gross,” Finn laughs, running his hands over Poe’s gleaming, wet body. “No, she told me nothing.”

“Well I found a place to eat, they’ll be open another hour and a half or so—you wanna freshen up before we go?” Poe asks.

“Yeah, just—no, actually. Let me just pee and then we can go.” Finn kisses Poe once more and retreats into the bathroom, thinking. When he comes out wiping his hands on a towel, he asks, “Don’t I call you pet names? Hotshot? Sweetheart? Babe? Darling? Poe Hot-Damneron?”

“I mean, sometimes. Hotshot, buddy, that sort of thing. Not ‘big hunk of man meat’ or ‘ _ honey bunches of oats _ ’,” Poe explains, stepping into the bathroom to finish toweling off his hair. “I’m not saying you  _ couldn’t  _ if you wanted to. Just, you know, warn me if you do. We need a ‘it’s not Jess with your phone’ safeword.”

Poe laughs, and rummages in his backpack for a change of clothes that  _ isn’t  _ the hotshot uniform, but only comes up with one of their official T-Shirts and a pair of jeans. He figures a place like ‘Woody’s Palm House’ won’t be a black tie affair.

“Is it just you and me for dinner? I guess so if Jess didn’t mention it,” Poe leans out of the bathroom. “Good, we’ll be in and out. I think my butt’s like permanently helicopter seat shaped, and I want a decent chance to lie down before we charge into the wilderness at six AM tomorrow.”

“I’ll tell you a few other things you can do with your ass,” Finn suggests, grinning as his arms go around Poe again. “Come on, one more kiss to tide me over.”

“One more,” Poe agrees, leaning in to give Finn a soft, teasing peck—but he knows better than to expect Finn to leave it this way. It’s a longstanding game between them.

Finn hauls Poe into something slow and soft this time, cupping his cheeks, and then they’re stepping out into the hallway, waving at the rest of the crew, many of whom are still just checking in.

“Let them have their alone time,” Snap says, dragging a rookie off who looks like he’s about to ask to join them for dinner. And any other time Finn would say yes, would invite them—Slip, he thinks, is the new guy’s nickname—but tonight, he just wants to be with Poe.

“Please tell me we can  _ walk  _ there,” Finn says. “And eat standing up.”

“We can walk there,” Poe agrees. “I think we’ll have to sit down to eat, though. It’s a burger joint. Or we could get takeout and go stand in a park somewhere and eat?”

He checks his phone’s GPS and follows his good instincts to get them there at street level, the air faintly smoky and smelling like a woodfire or a campground. In the far distance, he can see the distant orange glow over the mountain line. Waiting for them; burning slow in heavy fuel. His heart beats a little faster, but they’ve done this before. Dozens of times, all over the southern half of the US. Even Alaska, once.

“Here it is,” Poe points out, looking up at the neatly trimmed palm trees lining the street as he leads him to the building with a cheerful red awning, and inside he can see a live jazz band going, but all he can think is how quickly those palms look like they’d burn. He shakes it off—California always loved those palm trees.

“It’s going to be okay,” Finn says, catching Poe’s worry, and,  _ what the hell _ , catching Poe’s hand, even in public like this. “We can’t do anything about it tonight. But tomorrow we’re going to.”

“Yup,” Poe agrees, squeezing Finn’s hand gently, and then lifting it to press his mouth against Finn’s knuckles, appreciating that Finn could read him so well.

He lets go of Poe’s hand when they find the restaurant, and because it is late, they’re seated right away. Finn eyes the menu, and is ready to order burger, fries, and milkshake when their waitress returns. He drinks water, as if in anticipation of being thirsty 24/7 for the next two weeks.

Jazz folds softly around them, and Poe orders heavier than he’d like to eat, but he knows the caloric output will be intense, even if all he’s doing is flying.

“Weather’s supposed to stay steady tomorrow. It’ll be hot,” Poe warns, but then he grins at Finn. “I mean, not that the ambient temperature doesn’t go up around you anyway. Wow, that was terrible. I’m tired, you’re tired, let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

Finn laughs brightly and squeezes Poe's hand. “No worse than anything I've texted you today.”

Now he has the courage to look at his phone, and the splutter and laugh over the ridiculous lines. “She's a complete menace.”

Poe reaches out with his foot under the table and nudges it against Finn’s ankle while they eat—both of them cleaning their plate. Poe looks deeply unhappy about it by the end, but it’ll probably be the last food he doesn’t cram into his mouth during refuel breaks for the next couple days.

“You don't have to finish it, babe,” Finn says playfully, stealing a fry from his plate. It's Finn's other favorite part of the job: how much he gets to eat and still have most part of a six-pack when he comes off a rotation.

“If I have your permission, then I won’t,” Poe says, shoving his plate with the last remaining fries toward Finn, who eats the fat ones and leaves the burnt crispy ones behind. “Food’s good here, though. We should come visit Palm Springs in the off season.”

They settle their tabs, some of the last few customers in the place as the Jazz band winds up for the night, and Poe goes to leave a tip for them, feeling like he weighs ten pounds extra. He returns to the table and offers Finn his arm. “I know it’s late, but I’m glad we’re walking back, it should help everything settle so I don’t have weird digestion dreams.”

“Let's go for a longer walk,” Finn suggests, beaming at Poe for how generous he is with the musicians. “Just around the block. You know, get some fresh air.”

He laughs at his own joke: it's even smokier outside than it was before. But it's be better than it will be tomorrow.

“Oh yes,  _ fresh  _ air,” Poe laughs, as they step out. It takes his eyes a minute to adjust to the haze, and they water a little, but he rallies, gets himself together, and then feels a wild impulse that—because he’s a pilot and everyone expects him to be daring—he immediately indulges. “Hey, so I was thinking at the end of this season, if you’re free, you should come back to the farm with me and meet Dad. I mean, I know you two know each other from the phone and facebook and stuff, but—official. Right?”

The air is warm, but the night is quiet. Almost completely still—all the night animals are probably all mixed up from the fire and either hiding or silent or fleeing. Poe knows how they feel all of a sudden, hoping he hasn’t overreached.

Finn stops them, eyes wide in spite of the smoke, and bright because his eyes are watering. “Poe— _ yeah!  _ Of course! Your dad is great and—”

He sticks on ‘official,’ clasping Poe’s hands. “Does this mean we’re...we’re really doing this?”

“Buddy,” Poe laughs, and then coughs a little because of the smoke, grinning. He holds onto Finn’s hands tightly in response. “We’ve been ‘really doing this’ for a few months, I’d say. I mean, I know we’re busy and all, saving the world, but I think we’ve still done well together anyway. I just think we should spend our time off together, and you and my dad get along. I can meet your parents, next. Then we can talk about the next steps, right?”

“Yeah,” Finn says, still getting used to the idea of being open about his relationship. He’s confident it’ll work out. Maybe Poe even means, like, _ moving in together  _ kind of serious. “I mean all I have to do is say ‘Semper Fi’ to your dad and we’re golden.”

“You’ll be golden anyway,” Poe assures him.

He pulls Poe into a hug in the middle of the street, not really caring who’s watching, but then he coughs again. Tomorrow’s going to be rough. “Uh, but maybe we should go back to the hotel for now.”

“Mmmhmm,” Poe agrees, but he hangs on for a minute longer, taking Finn’s hand. “And we’re gonna want every minute of those six hours of sleep we’re about to get so rain check on anything but cuddling.”

“You're the most boring man I know,” Finn complains, but he's looking forward to falling asleep on top of Poe watching cable anyway.

-

The alarms go off at five thirty the next morning, and Poe resists the urge to slap his phone onto the floor under a hotel dresser somewhere, never to be seen again. Finn’s a morning person—really, he’s an  _ all the time  _ person, but Poe only gives up his warm, comfortable space curled up against Finn’s side for the sake of fighting fires and doing good in the world.

It helps that Finn is already up, taking a shower that lasts exactly two minutes for a clean that won't last longer than two hours, but it's the last chance he has to feel clean, so it matters.

Poe's already pulling on his pants when Snap hammers on the door a few minutes later as a backup alarm.

“Alright, all  _ right _ ,” Poe calls back, hiking his pants up on his hips, leaning over to kiss Finn on the cheek as he comes out of the bathroom. He opens the door to the length of the chain and peers out.

“Skids up ASAP. They want you to take the gear and get the command center set up out there at Fuller Ridge campground, they’re sending your fuel tanker up there now” Snap says, snapping his fingers. “Finn’s with me in the convoy, we’re leaving in fifteen. It’s early but they’re evacuating Idyllwild so there’s RV’s out there we’ll have to get around.”

“I'm coming!” Finn shouts, though he doesn't hear the order, actually.

“Sounds thrilling,” Poe answers. “Okay, I’ll finished getting dressed. Drop me at the airport? It’s just up the street, on your way.”

“Done deal, Dundee.”

“Ew,” Poe says and closes the door.

“Snap?” Finn laughs, pulling Poe into a hug and a kiss, and letting Poe lean against him for thirty seconds of quiet.

“Yeah, Snap,” Poe says. “Convoy’s out in fifteen.”

“You gonna be careful up there for me?” Finn asks. They make the same promise every time, even if it's less about being careful than it is about being lucky.

“Mind the updrafts and the downdrafts, yes sir,” Poe says. “I will. And you watch the line and don’t stand under any snags. Deal?”

“Deal,” Finn promises, and kisses Poe once for love, and another for luck.

It’s almost like a superstition; like when he pats the Firehawk for luck, or some of the firefighters wearing their pendants for St. Florian, and little celtic crosses. Gives them a moment to think about it and center themselves and Poe believes  _ that  _ at least makes them all safer.

He shoves his charging cable into his backpack, pulls on his ugly yellow button up over an undershirt, laces and ties his boots, and then he’s ready. Not  _ so  _ ready that when he opens the door he doesn’t see the punky receptionist stepping out of Jess’ room looking barely put together. He’s chuckling when Jess joins them all in the lobby, a few minutes later.

“I thought you were awful quiet last night,” Poe ribs, giving her a wink. “Hope you took her number, she’s pretty cool.”

“Are you kidding? I changed all her ringtones to me saying ‘call me’,” Jess grins, proud of herself.

“You're a menace,” Finn says. “We can only hope she'll have a good influence on you.”

They pat each other's arms as they part: no more kisses until they see each other tonight. It's part of the superstition more than any concern that someone will see them—the gay firefighter is kind of a stereotype for a reason, in Finn's experience—and the only thing Finn allows to distract him from the road are the hot sandwiches and coffee Snap hands out.

Poe goes quiet too as he drinks his coffee and mentally warms up, then says goodbye to the group at the airport, and he’s glad it’s a small terminal, so he can check in quick, get onto the borrowed patch of tarmac where the red and blue helicopter waits, being loaded for takeoff. He greets the bird in his thoughts, then gets down to the preflight checklist, recording what he needs to in his flight log and then settling into the familiar seat.

When he’s sure everything’s ready, he helps load the last of the gear. It’s all routine; drop camp, refuel, receive his orders on whether he was dropping water or retardant, get the siphon on the bird and get to work. That sounds simple; some days it is. Then again, complacency is a bad policy.

**Poe:** Skids up. Gonna show up that LA County bird this time. If you see that yellow monstrosity give it the finger for me, ok?

He tucks the phone away out of sight, pulls his helmet on, and starts the day. It’s going to be a long one.

Finn laughs at the text but doesn't have time to respond. He'd probably only scold Poe.

The drive isn't as bad, of course, as the hike up the mountain to relieve the crews already stuck out there for their 14-day rotation—some of them have been there even longer.

“Stay safe out there, hotshots,” Commander Leia says as Finn watches one of them leave on a stretcher. “Undergrowth’s bad up there.”

“Thank you.” Finn surveys the area, and maps it onto the briefings they went through on the drive up.

“Okay, guys, we know the drill!” Snap shouts. “Let's get a line going, start clearing this are out!”

It's grueling work, and in the short breathers he gets, Finn can't seem to eat or drink enough to maintain. Shouting, chopping, bulldozing, digging. Things are burning all around them, but that's normal. It's the big blazes a mile out, half a mile, four hundred yards, that they're worried about. But their line is holding, and they'll have an easy retreat down the mountain to let this thing burn itself out—while they move to the next front.

The first day is always a strange combination of easy and hard; getting a feel for this particular fire, but they’re all well rested, at the top of their game; prepared mentally and physically. They find the fronts and fight them, cut line. Poe knows easy days and hard—this is an easy day.

He eats lunch and downs more coffee—cold by now—as they refuel the Firehawk, and check the siphon lines, and pile in the supplies he’s supposed to drop to the firefighter teams; chainsaw fuel, new chains, a few spare gorgui tools for those that had failed over the course of the day. Poe listens to the radio as he eats with half an ear, the call-and-answer of command staff working in close touch with each member of the team.

When there’s a lull, Poe picks up the radio. “You guys have about ten until I deliver your field rations and chainsaw juice. Whether you guys eat the gas and put the MRE’s in your chainsaw tanks is up to you, but I got a whole case of nice cold beef stew rations for y’all.”

“Gross,” Jess’ voice comes back.

“Hey, we got a fire, we can warm it up,” Snap answers.

“But I ordered shrimp scampi!” Finn calls, taking off his helmet to rub sweat out of his eyes. It’s an inside joke: Finn loves _Muppet Treasure Island_ a little bit too much.

“Hey, and where’s my chicken caesar salad?” Karé asks. “Extra croutons, dressing on the side!”

“Hey we should get a—what’s that pudding you set on fire?”

“Smokey the bear is frowning so hard at you guys,” Poe calls back, finishing up his own sandwich and high-salt peanuts and carefully washing his hands before they go in his gloves -nothing worse than sweaty, salty hands inside flight gloves.

After lunch, Finn gets into a rhythm, digging until someone tells him to stop.

“Grab some rack time,” Snap says, and Finn realizes with a start that it’s gotten dark. “Poe’s down at Base camp. We’ll need you again in six hours, but I promise you’ll get eight the next time.”

“Sure,” Finn says, and begins the trudge down the mountain to base camp, looking for the bright orange tent that is Poe’s amongst the grouping he can see in the distant base camp.

“Hey, how come  you get to skip on spiking out!” Jess calls after, but she waves anyway; she’s stuck working ‘till morning, when the group of six sent down with Finn will come back up and relieve them. “I’ll see you in the morning, I hope your boyfriend didn’t pitch your tent on a rock!”

“Just because he’s cute, doesn’t mean he’s dumb!” Finn calls back.

The ride back to camp is relatively quick; but not so fast that the fire is right on top of them—a trundle down an old forest switchback in the transport van, heavy tires crunching on the gravel until the campgrounds come into sight. There’s less chatter on the way back; they’re all hot, tired, sweaty, covered in soot and ash, but they’re all still in good spirits.

Poe greets the truck with a pitcher of ice cold water and a stack of solo cups—and a grin and hug for Finn.

“I’m back up in six hours,” he tells Finn. “Nightvision ops and everything.How ‘bout you? Time to eat and sleep?”

“Same. Eat and sleep,” Finn says, after he drains a cup of water. He realized he hasn’t pissed all day, actually, as he drinks some more. “Wish we had time for anything else.”

He gives Poe a kiss, but his mouth tastes like a barbecue. Maybe he’s just got food on the brain. “What’s for chow?”

Poe wrinkles his nose up but figures he’s probably eaten just as much smoke and really the only way to get rid of it was just to keep kissing Finn and then maybe brush his teeth.

“They sent some food up from Palm Springs, so you’re in for a treat,” Poe reveals. “I mean, real food, though I guess you could have an MRE again if you want.”

The mess-tent has been erected in the center of camp, surrounded by dropped clusters of packs and gear. Poe leaves his flight helmet on top of Finn’s gear pack and follows Finn inside; it smells amazing.

“I think it’s brisket,” Poe purrs. “Bless those caterers.”

Finn pauses for only a second. “The barbeque is kinda overkill, right?”

But he shrugs and grins and goes for it.

Poe heaps his plate, unable to calculate how much gear he’d hoisted in and out of the cargo hold of the Firehawk today, even by the sore feeling in his forearms and biceps, and then he and Finn settle together at one of the picnic tables. As he sits, he nudges Finn. “How’d everybody do today? Nobody dropped a chainsaw on their foot this time, at least.”

“That was  _ one  _ time, and he didn’t drop it on his foot,” Finn says, between mouthfuls. “We don’t let the lefties even hold the chainsaws, anymore. How many tanks you dump today? I only saw you three or four times through the smoke. Your yellow buddy—nowhere to be seen.”

“Yeah he’s slacking,” Poe laughs. “Well, that’s not true, they’ve got him protecting the tramway by dumping retardant in that area. That’s all preventative, though. If we do our jobs it’ll never make it that far.”

He winks at Finn, still cramming food into his mouth; talking and eating aren’t frowned upon when they’re working and time is always at a premium. “I dropped twelve before lunch, eight after. We’re hitting near the seventy percent containment mark. Just don’t get complacent or I’ll hose your whole crew again.”

“You always make me a little wet, Dameron,” Finn laughs, mopping up the last of the sauce with another roll, and then drinking some more water. He finally pushes back from the bench, satisfied.

“Hah!” Poe laughs also, finishing his water, and then taking both their empty plates to go in the trash bin.

Finn asks quietly, just between them, “Ready to hit it, love?”

“Yeah, I’m ready. Sorry we don’t have a couple more hours, but I’ll make it up to you after, right? Just two days, you and me, I promise. You know, after thirteen more days here—or we could mop this fire up early, just a little incentive.”

“Hey, that’d be great. Piece of cake,” Finn says, as they brush their teeth and wash up as much as they can at the sink station. Wondering in a sleepy daze if it’d be worth it to walk up the mountain and pee on the flames, Finn uses the port-a-potty instead. He strips down to underwear and crawls into the tent, pulling on a new pair once inside. He likes being clean, okay? And if it means he has to wake up a minute or two earlier to tie his boots, he doesn’t care.

Poe follows a similar routine, though it’s his habit to change his boxers in the morning before he starts his day. He settles in next to Finn, pulling a blanket halfway up both of them, and then Finn’s arm over his side—the tent doesn’t allow for them to do much aside from sleep very close and be comfortable with each other, but it’s always been easy for them, somehow. Poe turns halfway in Finn’s arms and kisses him.

“Okay, now it’s smoke and mint,” Poe laughs. “Exotic. The new cologne line ‘eu de sixteen hour days’.”

“Gross,” Finn laughs, but he likes kissing Poe no matter what either of them taste like, and he curls an arm around him and gets his fingers in Poe’s hair—it’s a move that both of them appreciate, at least when Poe’s hair has been cleaned in the past three or four days.

“Love you. Let me know if you get too warm,” Finn says, as a courtesy. They’re both clingy sleepers, and both of them are resigned to heat when they have to be.

(In the hotel room later they’ll kick it to 65 or as low as it goes just to feel what it is to be cool again, and then huddle for warmth.)

The smoke isn’t so bad in here, and Finn breathes deep. It’s easy to sleep, too, after the day they had. Poe puts his hands on Finn’s chest, palms flat, and matches the pattern of their breathing, and knows he can follow Finn back down into sleep.

-

Someone’s shouting at them to wake them up, and Finn is alert (though not  _ happy _ ) instantly. He rolls Poe up into a ball, giving him his pillow to hold, and kisses his forehead, letting Poe wake up in his own time. Finn rushes through a bleary morning routine, dressing in darkness and smoke, and watching Jess and the others stagger like zombies toward the chow line. Finn is with Snap, Slip, and Karé going back up the mountain: the line is holding, and has grown in length.

“We’ll cover as much of the territory between here and Idyllwild as we can today,” Leia explains at their morning briefing. Finn wonders if  _ she  _ slept at all. Her command staff looks tired, also. “The weather is supposed to heat up in the middle of the afternoon, so be careful. Don’t back yourselves into any corners, and stay above the fire wherever possible. If we can save the trailer park, fine, but if not remember that we’ve evacuated it and infrastructure can be replaced.”

“Tell that to the L.A. County Helitack guys,” Poe mutters as he staggers up, dressed and with his night vision goggles affixed to his helmet, unable to resist a dig even just barely woken.

“You’re going to be tactical today, Dameron,” Leia says, shutting down his chatter instantly—even tired, she’s always on top of the game. “Snap, I’m putting him at your disposal—that means you and your crew can direct him to drop water strategically.”

“Hey, that RV resort has a swimming pool, right?” Poe jokes. “I bet you five bucks I can put my siphon in it.”

“That’s what  _ she  _ said,” Jess says, instantly.

“Go eat and go sleep, Jess, you’re not funny anymore,” Finn scolds, shoving her. He takes a sip of coffee that he has to practically chew, but it’ll keep him going, along with the heavy breakfast burrito someone stuffs into his fist.

“Provided you keep it from burning down, I’m moving base camp over the hill to Idyllwild this evening. They’ve graciously agreed to let us use their cabins while we battle the western side of this fire,” Leia reveals, drawing a tired ‘yay’ from the assembled firefighters.

After the briefing, Finn kisses Poe, tells him, as usual, to be smart and be careful, and Poe tells him the same, before they finish gearing up to get back to work.

This time is made harder by the darkness and the short rest, but Finn hasn’t had a chance to get sore yet, so it could be worse. Still, things are well under control. He sticks close by “Slip,” short for “Slip-n-slide,” for how painfully clumsy he can be.

He wasn’t even the guy who almost dropped a chainsaw on his foot: no one ever let him  _ hold  _ a chainsaw to find out. Still, he’s a hard worker, and devastating at tasks that don’t require a lot of coordination. Finn doesn’t mind looking after him.

Snap calls Poe in twice to hit areas that are burning fiercely too close to where they want to cut a line, and Poe manages to hit the areas even in the predawn light with precision. None of the Hotshots can do more than give him the thumbs up as he turns the bird away from the heated updrafts where the fire’s the worst and takes the helicopter back out to retrieve more water.

“Do you smell… chlorine?” Slip asks, after Poe’s second run. His foot turns on a loose stone and he swears, but as clumsy as he is, he’s sturdy too, so he just digs it out, kicking it over onto the burned side of their line.

“Oh, he did  _ not _ ,” Finn laughs.

“He did,” Karé grunts.

They work, and work, and the sun comes up, and Finn cuts trees, felling some that are already on fire, and some that are about to be, and expertly covers the miles he’s assigned, working in close communication with his group.

Then the wind shifts, and Snap swears, grabbing for the walkie talkie. “Hey, Helitack one, I think this thing’s going to jump the line ahead of us. Can I get you with a water drop about half a mile west of my geeps.”

“Snap, you know it’s GPS,” Poe returns. “I’m sitting at the Helitack base with my fuel hose attached. ‘Bout ten minutes until the tank’s full, then I can be there uh, I dunno, about another fifteen with a full tank.”

“Sir!” Slip points ahead, where the wind-driven fire surges around their flank, racing ahead of them.

“Better make that as quick as possible, I’m pulling my team back so we don’t get surrounded.”

“Ten-four, I’m coming to your ‘ _ geeps’  _ .”

“Watch out!”

Finn shoves Slip out of the line of a falling tree only just in time, and then  _ he’s  _ surrounded, and there’s several minutes of panic and shouting as Finn searches for an exit before Snap is beckoning him through a safe corridor.

“That was close,” Slip says, while Finn is panting through his mask.

“Yeah, we’re still in ‘close,’” Snap says, looking around them. He gets on his radio: “Helitack two, are you up there? I need eyes on my situation. Things are getting hot up here!”

L.A. County doesn’t respond, but Leia does. “Snap, start pulling out. Looks like your area is going to be compromised pretty quick. Put your heads down and get out of there.”

“Roger that. We can—”

The rocky ridge goes out from under them without warning—and for being the bigger guy, Snap is faster to react, grabbing Karé’s outstretched hand, while Slip grabs a treebranch that snaps predictably, sending him sliding down the mountain.

“I got him!” Finn cries, and tears after him.

“Finn, wait!”

“Shit!”

Poe hears enough that he cuts fuel at three quarters of a tank and has the bird in the sky dragging the syphon without a second thought. He skips everything but racing toward Snap’s last known location, straining to listen to the radio, silent himself—all he can hear is a jumble of noise—the blades chopping air as he pushes the nose down, changes the rotor pitch, and pulls the bird to full cruise speed—there are very few times in his life when nearly two hundred miles per hour doesn’t feel like enough, and this is one of them.

When the crew recovers themselves, they haven’t fallen very far, but they are at the bottom of a steep rocky slope and it had jounced them all pretty soundly. Slip seems out of it, and Snap—being the trained medic—takes the lead there and passes the walkie talkie to Finn.

“If you can’t get a bird here in five minutes, we have to deploy our fire shelters,” he says, with a glance up—they can see the flames over the line of the ridge they’ve fallen down—and the drop on the other side is further still; a drop and a hot place.

“Closing on your last GPS location and it’s looking awful hot down there,” Poe’s voice comes over the walkie talkie, just seconds before the distant (and somehow hopeful) chopper sounds reach them. “Be nice to hear a voice, fellas.”

“Poe! Poe, shit, Helitak One, anybody, mayday, mayday, we have got wounded down here and we need an evac or an exit!” Finn shouts into the walkie talkie. He has to pull his mask away to talk, but it’s getting hard to breathe and even harder to see around here. “We’ve gone over a ridge and down onto a lower slope!”

“I’ve got him,” Snap tells Karé, hoisting Slip over his massive shoulders. “We need a way out. We know down is—”

“Nope, oh, no, shit. Down is bad, we can’t go that way,” Karé said, looking over the next low ridge below them. They’re trapped—and if they had slid any further, they’d already be burning.

“Okay, everyone prepare to deploy fire shelters,” Snap coaches. “Damn it, Finn, get yours first!”

But Finn has gotten Slip’s out of his bag, covering them both as best as he can before he gets his own foil blanket out. “Okay, the fire was jumping our lines to the East, maybe we head West?”

It was better than burning to death, which was what was going to happen if they stayed here, and as of now, they didn’t have any better directions.

“I’ll stay with Snap,” Karé says. “We’re right behind you.”  

“Hug the cliffside and head west,” Poe tells them trying to sound calm. “I can get a skid down about a hundred and fifty yards ahead of you but you’re going to have to run because the fire is coming up fast on the topside. I need you guys to book it. It’s like a football field, and you guys all need to make a touchdown, right now.”

Poe’s words are like a prophet’s or an angel’s, and the hotshots are only too glad to obey.

Snap and Karé wrap Slip in his fire shelter and hoist him up between them, and then it’s a mad rush through thick smoke and tricky footing and difficult underbrush, toward the sound of the helicopter. It’s almost impossible to see what’s ahead of them, but to either side the flames are getting higher, hotter,  _ nearer.  _ Karé is coughing somewhere just behind Finn, and the heat is curling the edges of Finn’s fire shelter as he holds it over the back of his head to keep any sparks away from his shirt and neck. Reaching  behind, Finn grabs a corner of the fire shelter to haul Slip along with them, his own foil protection getting caught in an updraft, sailing away into the flames, and he’d rather let go of that than the walkie talkie (which is  _ stupid _ , he thinks later, but it’s his only connection to Poe, to rescue, he doesn’t want to have to deploy shelter and roast over the course of four hours!).

Then,  _ finally _ , through the smoke a flash of red and blue; the flashy and now soot-streaked paintjob of the Firehawk, the downdraft from the helicopter blades clearing smoke even as Poe struggles to keep one skid on the barely-wider lip of the ridge—he can’t put the bird any closer or the rotors would hit the cliff, but he’s got the door thrown open and he’s holding it as steady as he can in the fierce updrafts from the flames.

“All aboard that’s coming aboard,” Poe manages to joke, sounding strained. The chopper moves a little, buffeted, but he holds it.

Finn thinks Poe is an actual  _ marvel  _ , landing on thin air like a cartoon character walking off a building, like he can defy gravity if he just doesn’t acknowledge it. Or maybe Finn has inhaled too much smoke.

They hoist Slip in, and Snap jumps over him while Finn and Karé pile up front, panting and coughing.

“Everybody in?” Poe glances back only once, and beyond the open door and soot-covered faces, there seems to be nothing but a wall of flames. He sees Finn reach for the door, turns his attention back to the controls, feels the door close through the frame of the Firehawk, and then stops holding the chopper down, letting the updrafts lift them out of the canyon and out of the smoke, and only  _ then  _ does Poe breathe a sigh of relief, turning the nose of the bird directly for base camp.

He hopes the siphon isn’t scorched. Or on fire. Everything else went exactly as it had to. Maybe they’d have survived the burnover, it looked like it was going fast below; the first rush of flames for just a few seconds, and then the slow rolling real burn consuming the heavy fuels coming up behind and burning longer.

Poe’s glad they don’t have to find out.

“How serious is it? Should I take us straight to the hospital?” Poe calls back.

“No, I think he just needs fresh air and to lie down for a while,” Snap shouts back. “Nothing’s broken he just conked himself a good one.”

“Tell me you’re never going to give that boy a chainsaw!” Poe shouts, feeling giddy with relief. He sets the chopper down just outside base camp, shutting down the rotor so he could inspect the siphon—but first, he helps carry Slip—already starting to come around—to the medical tent.

Leia is there to greet them, clearly doing a head-count as they all file in.

“You’re all done for today,” she says. “I’m sending in the auxiliary team, and L.A. County’s Helitack support unit is picking up your duties while we re-clear our bird for flight.”

“I bet  _ he  _ can’t put his siphon into a swimming pool,” Poe stage-whispers to Finn.

Finn whacks Poe, but weakly. He’s beginning to feel shaky after the panicked rush of adrenaline, and he’s still wearing his respirator because he feels like he can’t get any air without it.

“Any other injuries? No? Then good job, boys.  _ Good  _ job,” she tells them all, touching everybody on the arm, and then last Slip, who gets a hearty pat as he blinks and tries to figure out what’s happening. “We’re still at seventy five percent containment. We didn’t lose anything, and thank whatever deity you like that we didn’t lose any  _ body _ .”

Finn nods, grateful, but now he’s kind of drained. He takes  _ You’re done for today  _ seriously, and lets higher brain function shut down. It’s a dangerous job, but normally things don’t get that bad. He grabs part of Poe’s flight harness, as if to steady himself, or maybe he just wants Poe to lead him out of here.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright,” Poe says, reassuring Finn, putting his arms around him and pulling him close, hanging onto him tight while they both reassure themselves that they’re OK, that everyone’s whole and well. Poe pushes his cheek against Finn’s and just hangs onto him while they both breathe. “We’re alright. Scary day, but we’re alright.”

“Yeah,” Finn finally agrees, coming back to himself a little bit, though he can’t imagine letting go of Poe. “Thanks for—for being—for—”

“Amazing?” Poe asks, a little worried, but hoping to bring Finn out of it. “Buddy, I was inspired by how amazing  _ you  _ are. All the credit’s yours.”

He’s not normally this shaken up. He’s never been afraid of dying before— sure he had people and things he would miss, but—

“I was scared I—I wouldn’t get to meet your dad,” he says, lamely, and he swears the tears are from the smoke. It’s not the full truth, but the full truth would take a lot more words. Words he doesn’t have right now. “Can we—go—?”

“Yeah,” Poe agrees. “Here, come on. Let’s go take advantage of one of these cabins. We can take a shower. Catch a nap.”

“Yeah.”

He guides Finn with an arm around his back, finding one of the unoccupied cabins and dropping a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the knob as they head inside, and Poe drops his helmet on one of the rustic, wooden end tables. A quick glance around gives him the basic idea, and he just pulls Finn against him again, kissing his forehead; Finn’s skin tastes like ash and sweat, but alive.

Finn melts into the hug, squeezing back with everything he has.

“Hey, you’re gonna meet my dad,” Poe reminds him. “You’re the best. I’m the best. We’re gonna beat that fire.”

And just like that, Finn feels better. He sniffs, wipes his arm across his nose, and smiles. “Yeah. I was just—worried there. For a second. Is all.”

He still hasn't let go of Poe's flight harness, but maybe he doesn't have to. “Sorry, I just. I think I have a lot more to lose, now, and it...hit me. I'm okay. You're right. We should, ah, get some rest, I guess, and, I could even eat an MRE honestly…”

“There’s plenty of those,” Poe assures him, but he doesn’t want to let Finn go, or for Finn to let him go, so he pulls Finn closer instead, putting his arms around Finn’s neck and leaning into him to kiss him hard, yanking their bodies together in a desperate way as their mouths meet and their teeth clicked together briefly before Poe pulls back and hisses for only a second, muttering an apology before he leans in again to keep kissing Finn; like he wants to keep kissing Finn for the whole foreseeable future.

Finn is glad he doesn't have to  _ say  _ ‘But actually I'd really rather fuck your brains out right now because you're alive and I'm alive and that’s more important than food or being clean or even  _ air _ ,’ because Poe just seems to  _ know  _ , is saying it with his kisses, sharp and ashy and hot. Finn kisses him back harder, and then they're slamming into walls in an effort to tear each other's clothes off.

“Don't let go,” Finn gasps, when he gets enough breath. “Don't go, don't ever  _ not be there  _ , I love you, thank you.”

Heavy gear falls to the floor and they trip out of their boots, still clinging and kissing. They're smearing the comforter with soot as they collapse onto it, but they don't care. Poe uses the time they’re gasping to work on the buttons of Finn’s shirt.

“I’m never letting go,” Poe tells him, leans up to kiss Finn again. “You’re there, I’m there. Two-for-one deal. I love you, Finn. You’re amazing.”

He gets his hands on Finn’s fly and works it open, his fingers slipping in their urgency, tugging inelegantly on the button, and then finally getting the zipper to surrender. Poe sinks halfway off the bed with one last kiss to Finn’s cheek and he has to kick a boot out of the way, but his hand’s around Finn’s cock guiding it free of his pants and Poe’s nose is filled with the scent of wildfire and  _ Finn  _ and life in the instant before he gets his mouth over the head of Finn’s cock and works him wet, presses the flat of his tongue against the glans and works it there because he knows from their experiences together that’s what Finn likes. He’s far beyond any hint of teasing, today.

“Jesus, Poe!” Finn's already raising his voice not thirty seconds into this, and he curls both hands into Poe's hair and just pets him, a slow, grateful movement. “Fuck, I love you. Get up here and ride me.”

They're exclusive by now, have been exclusive and both got checked out, but Finn slides on a condom, anyway, as Poe scrambles up and into his lap. At any other time—maybe in the morning—they’d laugh at the shirt half hanging onto Poe, and Finn's jeans kept on one leg by his boot that just won't come off. But right now they don't care. They just need to feel alive and together. And they're honestly lucky they found lube.

Poe leans down over Finn’s chest as he presses slicked up fingers inside, moaning into Finn’s mouth, pressing his nails into Finn’s warm, responsive skin, feeling the stretch and faint burn, listening to the responses Finn purrs into him. Poe pushes back, takes things faster than Finn initially intends to give them to him, and reaches to get ahold of Finn’s cock, two rough strokes and then he’s guiding it against himself even before Finn’s hand is out of the way.

“That’s enough; it’s okay,” Poe tells him, rough-sounding and desperate. “I can take it, Finn. Now.”

The last is more command than comment, as Poe straightens his back, sits up and presses his palms gently to Finn’s stomach to push himself down onto Finn, hard, hissing out a sigh as he wills his body to catch up to what he wants which is Finn—all of him, now and all the days in the future.

“Damn it, always rushing me.” Finn laughs kisses into Poe’s hair, deciding Poe’s  _ crazy  _ if that hell of a day wasn’t enough of a rush for him. But he’s not slowing him down, and kisses Poe sharp and hungry, needing to feel him.

When Poe’s all the way down, Finn sunk deep into him, he barely pauses before he begins to shift his hips, rocking them just to get them moving, to start the motion.

“Fuck, fuck, slow down,” Finn hisses, this time grabbing Poe’s hips to hold him still as he surges up to kiss him.

“You’re a total hero,” Poe tells Finn, watching him through his eyelashes; his voice is heavy like the weight inside him. “You’re the bravest guy I ever met, and the kindest and—there’s just so many good things to say about you.”

Finn laughs again, but the sound is airy, like he’s flattered to the point of light-headedness.

“You’re the one who saved my ass,” he points out. “You’re my hero. My angel.”

He giggles at this pet name, slides one hand onto Poe’s leaking red cock, and strokes him short and quick, just how he knows Poe likes it, to watch him shudder and melt on him. “You  _ look  _ like an angel, anyway.”

Poe snorts. “Sure you’d say that while I was riding your cock. That’s super blasphemous. I love you.”

“Buddy,” Finn groans, because there’s a lot in there, most of which Poe already knows too well, and yeah, okay, maybe this isn’t the place for it, so Finn lets it out in a huff. “I’m doing my  _ best _ .”

A groan tears out of him, and Poe rocks his hips into Finn’s grip, riding Finn in small, deep, fast motions that aren’t frantic, yet, but do push them, both of them. He’s in the middle of arching his back to get Finn  _ right  _ where he wants him before his outward sigh turns into a giggle.

He snaps his hips down sharply and leans in to Finn’s ear. “Honey bunches of oats.”

Finn guffaws at that, helplessly, a laugh from his belly that nearly bucks Poe off of him, and he uses the momentum to overturn them, roll until he’s got his hands and knees braced on the bed and Poe is spread out beneath him, looking like Temptation itself, now. “You take that back or I’m pulling out now and coming on your face.”

It’s not a serious threat, or if it is, it’s not going anywhere they haven’t already gone, occasionally, in the kinky heat of a filthy moment, and both liked. But Finn’s not anywhere near there tonight, and if Poe is a brat it only makes Finn love him and want him more.

Poe laughs back at him, hooking his ankles together over the small of Finn’s back (and inwardly thanking himself for all those crunches that give him the core strength necessary to do this without his hands even though he’d hated every second of every crunch) and arching his body up.  It’s okay if they can laugh; they’re alive, they’re whole. Everything’s—in this instant—the most okay it could possibly be.

“You say that like it’s gonna deter me,” Poe points out, reaching up with his hands to press his palms to Finn’s cheeks, to stroke the pads of his fingers around the curve of Finn’s jaw, smooth his thumbs over the focused crease of Finn’s brow as they start moving again. Anything else he was going to add peters out and drifts away like so much smoke.

“God, yeah, Finn,” Poe encourages, losing himself in it, hanging onto Finn’s shoulders like he might never let go.

“Poe, yeah, you’re so—I love you,” Finn grunts and somehow finds strength from somewhere to  _ really  _ fuck him. It doesn’t last long at that pace, but Finn comes, and he jerks Poe off while he’s still inside him, and kisses and holds him as they both come down, shuddering and panting.

It feels good: warm and close—but not too warm, and not quite close enough. Finn feels safe here, sprawled half on top of Poe, and tucked against his shoulder and soaked in each others’ sweat.

“Maybe I should scare you like that more often,” Finn suggests with a grin.

“No,” Poe says, clearly, but he turns Finn’s mouth up to press a kiss against his lips, pausing to shake his shirt the rest of  the way off. “No, you should not. I have a great imagination. We can  _ pretend  _ that we almost died any time we want to.”

Scrubbing his fingers through Finn’s hair, Poe rubs against his scalp gently, their bodies curled together in a loose tangle that he doesn’t care to _ untangle  _ , at least not for a few minutes. He doesn’t seem to be able to get enough of touching Finn in the aftermath—stroking gentle patterns over Finn’s shoulders, along the line of his neck, behind the shell of his ear and over the dip in his collarbone. Anyplace Poe can reach before his palm finally settles over Finn’s chest where Poe can feel his heartbeat.

Now that the danger of jizz-to-the-face has passed, he leans down and whispers very sweetly in Finn’s ear, “Sugar tits.”

“ _ Poe _ ,” Finn says, and laughs, too tired to glare at him.

But he’s not at all too tired to reach a sticky hand up and smear Poe’s face with his  _ own  _ come, laughing evilly.

“Ah,” Poe laughs—is laughing already even as he tries in vain to fend Finn’s hand off. “Gross. You gotta kiss this mouth you know.”

Like Poe hasn’t put his mouth worse places, honestly. They briefly wrestle over it, more tangling limbs than actually combatting each other and they both wind up a little questionably sticky in places and almost fall off the bed.

“Alright, alright, I surrender,” Poe laughs at last, hanging onto Finn to keep himself from going over the edge of the bed ass first. “You win, Hotshot. We’d better take a shower, though. And eat something— _ not that get your hand away from me— _ and sleep.”

“Oh God no, I refuse. I’m going to sleep covered in come and soot and—okay, I might get this off—” But he works on getting his boot and pants off before throwing the condom away. Priorities. “Man, I’m seeing double I’m so tired.”

Finn’s happy-loopy, too, though, and still handsy as they stagger toward the shower. He kisses Poe, even filthy as he is, and loves it, and yelps and laughs at himself for yelping when the water starts off too cold. They move slow and lazy under the spray, kissing and touching gently, holding, warming, whispering, protecting, promising.

Even though he’s bone-weary, Finn finds himself more hungry than he is tired when they exit the shower, drying off but not bothering to get dressed.

They eat MREs and junk food in bed, with Discovery Channel on in the background. Poe cuddles up next to Finn, and they lean together, comfortable, and he feels—okay. Better than okay, given the events of today, but good. Like he’s right where he’s supposed to be, with who he’s supposed to be there with.

His phone goes off twice on the dresser; fire engine sirens, and he sighs. “Finn, buddy, where’s your phone?”

The answer is, clearly, with Jess.

**Finn:** Hey baby I want you all up in my mess tent.

**Finn:** Because I left my phone there, available for anyone to peruse all these spicy pictures of you like—here’s one with sour cream on ur face.

“God  _ damn  _ it, Jessika!” Finn groans.

“I’m revoking your millennial card,” Poe scolds him. “What kind of millennial can even live without being attached to their phone?”

“One with excellent taste in Gen-X-ers?” Finn replies sweetly, resting his head in Poe’s lap while his phone, now set to vibrate, goes off a few more times in Poe’s hand.

**Finn:** So when you’re ready for your delicious thunder chunk to have his phone back I expect deets of your evening.

**Finn:** Bunny Scuppers.

**Poe:** There’s not much to tell. We got real close and intimate, right up against each other…

**Poe:** And then we proclaimed our eternal and undying love for each other.

**Finn** : ...Gross.

**Poe:** ;D

“Hand me your phone,” Finn says, and he sends one text before turning the phone off entirely and setting it on the nightstand.

“What’d you tell her?”

Finn yawns and closes his eyes. “That that wasn’t sour cream.”

“I love you, Bunny Scuppers,” Poe tells him, heaving their bodies close and kissing the side of Finn’s neck.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So I discovered that the helmets they used in TFA for the X-Wing pilots are based on Helicopter pilot helmets. Also, the hotshot crews were in town for a demonstration a couple weeks ago. These things combined to an idea that several people encouraged wildly. Thanks to all y'all.


End file.
